Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

Hayes

I have no idea why I’m standing outside the coffee shop where I know Donovan and Anthony are meeting tonight. There’s no reason to be here. I still don’t get the point of this whole thing, but he sent me another message with the time, and since it happened to be around when Rylan’s game is, I figured I could use the distraction. I can meet them, see what this is all about, then let them know I’m not interested. I can’t imagine what we’d have in common anyway.

I’ve completely stayed away from the internet and television all evening…because I absolutely don’t care that Rylan is playing. It doesn’t matter how good he does. It has no effect whatsoever on my life, except for him thinking I have supercum. Which is maybe the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. It doesn’t even warrant continuing to think about it.

So I’m not.

At all.

I’m going to have a secret meeting with the other members of the Jilted Exes’ Club instead.

I pace in front of the building, my thoughts warring between what the fuck am I doing here and Rylan.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to at least see how he did. That way when he doesn’t have an extra-special hockey game, he’ll finally put this thought out of his head.

And never want to hook up with me again, which isn’t a fun option.

His only interest in me comes from his weird hockey superstition. Really, I shouldn’t care, and part of me doesn’t, except the sex is so good. Like what I assumed sex was supposed to be before I actually had it and realized it wasn’t all that special. I’m not ready to let that go, and Rylan is easy. I need easy if I want to keep having fantastic sex and to prove to myself that I’m not the kind of guy who’s just going to fall in love with any man who pays me attention.

At least Donovan and Anthony didn’t go that far, which brings me back to the fact that instead of stalking Rylan, I’m stalking Donovan and Anthony, but is it really stalking if I was invited?

I turn to walk away, just as I hear, “Hayes?”

I look up to see a beautiful man with short curls and rich brown eyes. He’s around my age, not really a twink, maybe a twunk? I’m not even sure how I feel about those words, but they’re what I’m used to hearing.

I recognize him, of course. It’s not like I didn’t google all the men who were also dating my boyfriend, though the amount of tags and posts I was sent would have done that job for me. It’s Donovan. ER nurse, born and raised in Southern California, graduated from USC, smart as hell, has an extra-close relationship with his dad, and is still close with the guy he’s been best friends with since elementary school.

Okay, so maybe I am a bit of a stalker.

“Are you going to come in?” he asks.

“I’m not sure,” I answer honestly.

He gets a sad look on his face, one that says he understands how I feel but also makes me shift uncomfortably, feeling naked and exposed because Donovan is a stark reminder of the most humiliating moment of my life. To be fair, it’s not just him. Anthony would be the same way to me, but he’s not the one walking closer to me right now.

“I get it. Things have been brutal. That’s why I was thinking we could get together and support each other. I don’t have a lot of close friends.”

I don’t really have a lot of close friends either. Is that part of the reason Malcolm chose us? Not something I want to think about right now, or, like, ever.

“You should come in,” Donovan says. “This might be a stupid idea, but we won’t know if we don’t try.”

The thing is, I have no idea what to say to this guy. I’m not friend material. I’ve never had friends who stuck around or were more than acquaintances. I can’t see what we would possibly get out of this situation, but I must admit I’m curious. What are Donovan and Anthony like? Maybe by spending time with them, I can figure out what it is about me, about us , that made Malcolm target us. “Just this once,” I tell him. “I’m already here anyway.”

Donovan smiles, and so far, all I can think is how nice he seems, how sincere. I know I’m prickly and not for everyone, so it’s not a complete surprise that someone would treat me the way Malcolm did, but Donovan seems totally different.

He holds the door open for me, and I head into the coffeehouse. It’s busy, three workers behind the counter and two people in line. Most of the tables are full, and I immediately see Anthony leaning against the back wall. He lifts his hand in a wave as we approach.

“So you’re our third, huh?” Anthony grins. He’s tall, with brown hair and a nose piercing. He’s lean, but it’s clear he’s muscular too. From what I’ve read, he’s a dancer at a local gay bar. “Sorry, bad joke,” he says, and I realize he has his hand out for me to shake and I’ve been ignoring it.

“It’s fine,” I say, clasping his hand. This already feels like a huge mistake, and honestly, I’m wishing I could turn around, walk out of this building, and never come back. I actually can, I remind myself, but again curiosity tugs at me, making me stay.

“I’ll show you guys to the back room and then get us drinks,” Donovan says, taking us down a short hallway. “My friend knows the owner. People reserve this room for meetings. They have craft clubs, book clubs, even an AA group that meets here sometimes.”

He opens the door. There are books, couches, comfy armchairs, beanbag chairs, and end tables scattered throughout the space. The walls have colorful artwork and inspirational quotes. I feel like I’m in a therapist’s office.

“What do you want to drink?” Donovan asks.

Anthony wants a caramel latte. He takes a seat in one of the chairs, but I can’t stay still, legs jittery as I walk around the room. Putting caffeine in my system feels like the last thing I should do, so I say, “Just a water is fine.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” He closes the door behind him. I feel Anthony’s eyes on me as I move around, probably looking like I’m casing the place. There’s an oversize window in the back that overlooks an outdoor seating area and garden.

“So…this is awkward,” Anthony says.

“God yes,” I reply.

“I wasn’t sure I was going to come.”

I turn around and give him my attention. “Me neither. Why did you?”

He shrugs. “Donovan is nice, and the idea of an I-hate-Malcolm Club can’t be too bad in my book,” Anthony replies, and surprisingly, I chuckle.

The door opens, and Donovan slips back inside, carrying a drink tray and a plate of muffins. “What did I miss?”

“Just a recommendation to change our name to I-hate-Malcolm Club,” Anthony replies as I take the drinks from Donovan and set them on a table.

“Malcolm Haters Anonymous,” Donovan suggests.

“Only we’re not so anonymous,” I say, and they both look at me. “Sorry. This is my MO. I’m the one who ruins the fun. Just ask Malcolm.”

Fuck. I wish I hadn’t said that so I wouldn’t be getting two sets of pitying eyes pointed my way.

“I was too emotional,” Donovan says.

“Too stupid,” Anthony chimes in.

“Though he never really said it.” Donovan sits down at the table. “He was just good at making me feel it without saying the words.”

Anthony moves from his chair to sit beside Donovan. He takes his drink and a muffin. My feet itch. My skin feels too tight. The urge to walk out hits me again. I don’t want to sit around and talk about Malcolm.

Donovan glances up, and seeing me lingering, asks, “You work in hospitality, right, Hayes?”

That’s something I can talk about, so I join them.

*

We only stay for about forty-five minutes. We’re still trying to feel our way around each other, and I’m not sure switching from Jilted Exes to friends—if that’s even what Donovan wants—is going to work, or if I want it to work, but I came, I stayed, got distracted from all things Rylan, and for today, that’s enough.

“Do you want to exchange numbers?” Donovan asks as we’re getting ready to leave. What’s the deal with people asking for my cell number lately? The only time anyone usually asks for it is if I’m going to be paying them a bill.

“Did either of you have to change yours after everything went down?” Anthony asks. “I don’t know how the media found mine, but they did.”

“Me too,” Donovan and I reply in unison. Not for the first time today, we have one of those moments where we all look at each other, realizing that someone else has been through the same thing we have. It makes me shift uneasily, though, rather than feeling comfortable.

The thing is, I’ve been very protective of my number since this all went down, but as I stand here watching Donovan and Anthony pull out their cells, I realize I didn’t hesitate to give Rylan mine. Not really.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want, Hayes. I can email you,” Donovan says, briefly taking my attention off Rylan and the strange things he’s doing to me. Do I want to share my info with them? This has been weird and awkward, but…do I want to be the only one not giving my number? That makes me a bit of a dick.

“I don’t mind.” And maybe that’s true or maybe it’s not. Sometimes I’m too up in my head about things to really understand how I feel about them.

There are missed texts on my phone when I pull it out. That’s not unheard of. My mom likes to message me, and there’s always reminders and dumb shit like that coming through, but the fact that I have eight unread messages isn’t normal.

We swap numbers, and then I get the hell out of there before I lose it…and maybe before anyone sees us together. All we need is for word to get out that the Jilted Exes are spending time together.

I make it as far as my car before I’m thumbing the screen because I have a suspicion who it is.

Two words. Magic cum.

Did you watch the game?

I bet you didn’t. I’m really hot when I play.

I killed it tonight!

Hayes! Stop ignoring me. I need to gloat.

Though maybe it’s you who has the right to gloat. You’re the one who’s good pucking luck and all.

Oh! I have an idea.

My phone buzzes with another message, only this time it’s a video. I don’t even pretend I’m not going to watch it when Rylan’s pecs fill the screen because I’m a glutton for punishment. The way this man turns me on can’t be good.

It’s short. Just five seconds of bouncing pecs before some guy wraps his arms around Rylan from behind and the video cuts off. And…who was that? Do hockey players go around hugging each other like that? No way I’m jealous. I don’t even know the guy. We’ve only met twice, and those were both for sex, and I’m never getting in a relationship again, so I don’t have to worry about being cheated on. But I am a little curious.

Me: Coincidence.

Rylan: Come out with us tonight.

My heart jumps into my throat, and I nearly choke. Go out with them? What in the hell is he thinking?

Me: I can’t go out with you.

He can’t really want that anyway.

Rylan: Why not?

Me: People will see.

Rylan: Are you embarrassed of me?

I roll my eyes because he really can’t be this clueless.

Me: No. I’m a Jilted Ex, and I was humiliated at one of your hockey games. All we need is someone to see us together and know we’re…you know.

A vision of a laughing Rylan pops into my head, and I do my best to shoot that shit down immediately.

Rylan: Boning?

Jesus Christ. Could he sound more like a frat boy?

Me: Are you sure you’re twenty-six?

Rylan: I never told you my age… Did you google me?

Shit. Goddamn it, motherfucker.

Me: Of course, but only when I found out you might be a hockey player.

Rylan: Aww…I think you’re obsessed with me…but don’t feel bad. I’m a little obsessed with you too. You should search highlights from my game tonight.

I’m absolutely not looking up this game. I don’t want to see any highlights because I don’t care about hockey.

Me: No.

Take that!

Rylan: Please.

Me: I’m ignoring you now.

What is it with this guy? He’s…well, no idea. I can’t quite get a handle on him or why I keep talking to him other than the sex.

Oh God. The sex. The sex that he thinks makes him even better at hockey…the sex I wouldn’t be having if it wasn’t for him. Sex that makes me feel good in this intense way I’ve never felt before. I don’t like that truth, but it’s a truth all the same.

Rylan: Can we talk tomorrow?

Say no, say no, say no.

Me: Yes.

Rylan: I thought you were ignoring me?

Fuck my life.

I set my phone on the passenger seat and drive away. Somehow, I don’t overthink the Jilted Exes’ Club meeting or Malcolm the rest of the night.